


all I ever want to talk about

by plotdevice



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Consent Issues, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Other: See Story Notes, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:02:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25280563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plotdevice/pseuds/plotdevice
Summary: Mark makes a choice.
Relationships: Mark Lee/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Comments: 28
Kudos: 160





	all I ever want to talk about

**Author's Note:**

> wow where do we even begin with this one? **please read the following before you proceed:** multiple consent tags because there are a lot of consent issues going on in here: this is not happy ending "we wanted each other all along" sex pollen! specific content warnings include power imbalance (one character has been pollened and the other has not), unsafe sexual practices (both physically and in terms of prophylactics), characters engaging in sexual acts without seeking consent that may read as nonconsensual to some readers, somnophilia without prior consent, and degrading language. if any of this is not for you, then please do not proceed! feel free to ask for clarification in the comments.

When Mark walked into the room he had expected to see, maybe, Johnny sprawled out across his bed, tangled up in the covers, hair tossed across his face, snoring lightly; he hadn't expected to see, first, Johnny's bare feet, his hairy shins, then the boxers caught around his knees, and then--Mark's startled gaze jerked up-- his cock, red and hard in his hand, as he stripped it with such speed it almost looked like it hurt. No--it did hurt, Mark corrected himself, because he could see it in the way Johnny's lower lip was caught between his teeth. His brow was furrowed and dark.

"Dude, what--" he heard himself croak, and then had to clear his throat. "Dude, _what_. What the fuck." The only reason he'd come up in the first place was because he and Johnny were supposed to have met in the apartment lobby twenty minutes ago to go to lunch, and when he was late Mark had figured he'd come up and drag him out of bed himself.

From the way Johnny's eyes flew to his face, he hadn't heard Mark come in at all, too caught up in--in touching himself. "Mark, holy shit." Even as he spoke, his hips stuttered into his hand, as if he couldn't help himself.

"Dude, what the fuck!" Mark said again. His voice pitched high and cracked in the middle of the sentence despite himself. "Stop! I'm literally talking to you! We were supposed to go--..." He trailed off. 

"Shut up." The words cut themselves off in Johnny's throat, and he grunted, his biceps tensing and flexing, before he came all over himself, his lip caught between his teeth again. Now that Mark was looking, he could see more come smeared on the bed. "Why are you just fucking standing there watching me? Get the fuck out!" Johnny didn't often raise his voice in anger, and this was no exception--the words were a low growl.

"Dude--are you, like." Mark took a step forward. "What's happening? Are you okay?" 

Johnny turned his eyes skyward. A small sound escaped him, like he couldn't help it, and then he grabbed the comforter and dragged it over himself for a semblance of privacy, though not before Mark noted that his cock was still as hard as before, that it hadn't flagged or softened at all. His gut tightened. Under the comforter, Johnny's hand kept moving. "I don't know," he said. His breath caught in his throat again; sweat gleamed on his forehead, the curve of his upper lip. "I went out this morning to get some ch--chips..." His voice trailed off and then strengthened again. "And on the way back I started feeling really hot and then when I came back it was like this. Can you just--get out." The last two words were gritted through his teeth.

"Dude, no. We need to call the manager!"

"And tell them what?" It was a testament to Johnny's self control that he was half naked, masturbating, and clearly in distress, but he still managed to pull out enough sarcasm to condescend to Mark. "Johnny can't stop jerking off? Call a doctor?" 

"I don't know, like, maybe it's a medical condition, or... Like?" He couldn't take his eyes off the comforter undulating where he knew Johnny was still touching himself, touching that big cock, like it was a compulsion, like he couldn't do anything else _but_ that, like it was what his body was made for. When Johnny tensed, his head thrown back, Mark knew: he'd come again. Without realising, too, Mark had stepped closer to the bed. "How many times... so far?"

The look Johnny gave him was filled with venom. Clearly even that second orgasm had provided him no relief. "Can you just get out, Mark?" His voice held an unusual tinge of desperation. 

An idea struck him. Without answering, he took his jacket off and tossed it aside. Johnny's eyes followed it, but only for a second; then they closed as he began fucking into his fist in earnest. Mark stepped closer, coming around until he was on Johnny's side of the bed. "Listen," he said. "Let me help you."

Johnny's eyes flew open. "Are you fucking crazy?" 

"No, no, listen--it's probably just easier on you if I try. Like, you know." He couldn't stop thinking about the long line of Johnny's body, his muscled legs, how big that fat dick would look in Mark's hands.

Johnny looked like he wanted to argue, but Mark, in a fit of stupidity, pulled the comforter off him. His cock was still as hard as when Mark had first seen it, and his mouth watered involuntarily even as he winced thinking about how painful it must have been. 

Without asking, he reached down and overlapped his hand with Johnny's, noting with an almost detached fascination the size difference and how his hand almost didn't fit all the way around. Johnny cursed; his other hand came up and gripped Mark's shoulder with such strength that Mark gasped. It was only then that he realised his mouth was watering, that his dick was pressing against the fly of his jeans. "Oh, fuck," Johnny sighed out. It was a tone Mark had never heard from him, a higher pitch, almost a moan. His dick jerked again, and Mark felt it throb. From this angle he could see Johnny's balls drawing up, and then his cock spurted all over their joined hands. It was the third time he'd come already just that Mark had seen, but it was still thick and creamy, and Mark's mouth watered again. 

Jerking Johnny's cock steadily, he planted a knee on the bed and then clambered on. The muscles in Johnny's abs tensed; that was what Mark noticed before he ducked his head to lick up Johnny's come and before Johnny made a noise, like a roar, that he'd never heard before and shoved him off, so hard he would have fallen backward off the bed had he not caught himself. 

"Are you an idiot?" Johnny's anger seemed to make him forget, for a moment, his problem.

"I don't get what your deal is," Mark said. He tried to sound reasonable, like an adult, but he couldn't help the whining from slipping into his tone. "I'm literally offering, dude, let me help you." 

Johnny stared at him for a long minute, and the air was filled only with the sound of their breath. His hair slipped into his eyes. The muscles in his neck stood out from how stiffly he held himself. Then he said: "You fucking bitch." It was venomous and condescending in a way he'd never heard Johnny speak before, in a way no one had ever spoken to him before, and it made his dick fatten up so fast he felt dizzy. "Fine. Fuck you." 

That was how he found himself choking on Johnny's cock. 

The act of cock-sucking--if he were to put it so delicately, when he was in the thick of it--was more difficult than expected. Because of the angle, first of all, he couldn't get a good grip, so even though his hands were on Johnny's thighs it gave him very little leverage, and more than once he found himself slipping down and choking. The choking made saliva fill his mouth and tears fill his eyes so that when the tears spilled over down his cheeks they mingled with the spit on his chin. Secondly, Johnny didn't seem to care--about the mess, but also about Mark's comfort. His hands were in Mark's hair, pulling so tight that Mark could feel his scalp prickle, and occasionally he would shove Mark's head down and make him gag, or a couple of times pull him back up so that he could take stock of Mark's teary eyes and trace at the outline of his dick bulging out of Mark's cheek.

The last part, and this maybe he should have anticipated, was his own bodily reaction. Johnny was the one with the dick that couldn't go down but Mark's own body was lighting up. He knew, without having to look down, that his jeans were in a patch of come and that he'd probably have to throw them out after this; and every time he gagged he had to fight the urge to throw up; and when Johnny pushed his head down he got a crick in his neck; and despite all this, or maybe because of it, he had to fight the urge to take his hands and start jerking himself off.

It was lucky that it took so little for Johnny to come; within five minutes his cock twitched in Mark's mouth and then with no other warning he was spluttering on come that was just as thick as the last load. For a second he wanted to spit it up and then instinct took over; he swallowed, grimacing, and some of it made its way down his face. 

A hand tilted his head back. "Did you get what you wanted?" Johnny said. "Will you leave now?" He wasn't gentle; his fingers were tight around Mark's chin. 

"No, dude. You're still--"

Johnny scoffed. Even as his dick stayed hard, he pushed Mark back. "What will it take to get you out of here?" 

"I just wanna help you," Mark said. Johnny's eyes passed over him and he was aware of how he looked: face wet and messy, jeans stained with come, dick pressing against his fly. 

"This is not help." Johnny emphasised the last word, and then his bodily instinct took over again, and he fisted his cock with no finesse. "Bros don't fuck each other for _help_. Stop being a little bitch and get out of here. Unless you're gonna let me fuck you--" He bit out a laugh.

"Yeah, okay," Mark said right over him. 

Johnny's eyes went huge. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Dude, you're clearly having, like, a problem." Mark gestured at him. "So, you know, if that's what--"

"Are you _serious!_ " Johnny's head tilted towards the ceiling. Then he snapped it back down and, for the first time, stopped touching himself.  
"Fine. Come here." 

Mark walked closer on his knees, but it wasn't fast enough for Johnny, who grabbed him by his shirt collar, pulled him in, and started stripping him artlessly. In a flash, his shirt was off, his jeans and boxers were pulled down to his knees, and he was on all fours, dropping down to his elbows and moaning as Johnny slapped his ass before twisting to the side to grab something--lube--from his bedside drawer. 

"You have no fucking idea what you're in for," Johnny said.

Mark's dick, which had been hard for so long with such little stimulation that it was starting to become painful, somehow perked up even more at the dark promise in those words. He was wet, had felt it through his boxers before; now he was dripping onto the bed, his precome joining Johnny's come. Even that thought made him hot. 

He was so lost in thought that he startled when Johnny squirted lube down the crack of his ass. The sensation of it slipping down him, sliding across his asshole, made him squirm with need. "Please," he said, and once he started he felt like he couldn't stop. His voice was unrecognisable, hoarse and cracked. "Please, Johnny, please hyung, please, I want your dick, I want it so bad, I--" He was cut off, abruptly, when Johnny's hand slid over his lips and into his mouth.

"Shut the fuck up." Johnny's voice was thick. "Don't fucking say--anything." The words came out tight, hard. Mark mouthed at his fingers, grateful to have something to think about that wasn't the way Johnny was clearly appraising him, looking at his asshole, rubbing his dick in between Mark's thighs and bumping up against his balls. The stimulation was almost enough for him to come, and for a second he moaned for it before Johnny shoved his fingers even deeper, making him gag. "Fuck, Mark." It was almost a sigh. "You fucking slut. Have you been gagging for it this entire time?" A hot flush of shame ran down Mark's back, making him sweat. He wanted to spread his legs more, get some air, but the jeans around his knees kept him trapped, flushed and hot and at Johnny's mercy to manhandle however he wanted. 

And it seemed what he wanted was to just rut between Mark's thighs for now, to put his hands on Mark's ass and spread him and stare at him, to rub his thumb across Mark's hole and watch it twitch as Mark moaned desperately for him, for his fingers, for his cock, for any kind of release. Finally Mark said, tremulous, "Hyung--Johnny hyung--please--" and felt Johnny's cock throb between his thighs before he spent all over Mark's legs, hot and sticky.

How many times had Johnny come now? Mark couldn't keep count. The only thing he was really thinking about was his own dick, which was hanging heavy between his legs, flushed and red. He almost sobbed with relief when Johnny shoved a finger, and then two into his hole, fingering him roughly. "You're so ready to get fucked," Johnny said. "Is this what you've been thinking about all this time? You wanted my dick this bad?" Maybe he'd regained some measure of self possession, or maybe this was just how he sounded when he was having sex; either way, he was back to the condescension, no more of that gritted-out restraint. He pulled his fingers out and wiped them on Mark's boxers. Then he paused; Mark couldn't see him, but he could hear the slick sounds as he fisted his cock. "Fuck, a condom."

"No, wait--" It was amazing that Mark's cheeks could still burn this hot with all the blood rushing to his dick. But Johnny couldn't see his face, so it didn't matter. "We don't--I've never--"

Johnny paused for a second. "I have, though." He didn't let the thought sink in before Mark heard him open the foil and roll the condom down. Then there were no more thoughts, because he was pressing his cock in, and everything flew out of Mark's head but that.

If he had ever thought about this before, and he didn't know that he had, consciously, he hadn't expected how hard it would be to breathe. It wasn't that he was actually being cut off from breath but rather that the feeling was so all-encompassing that he felt a weight on his chest and struggled, for a moment, to gasp for air. Distantly he could hear moaning, a broken whining sound, and realised that was him, that his fists were clenched and his toes were curled, that Johnny was splitting him open, spearing him open with his cock, and Mark could do nothing but take it. He felt stretched open, stretched thin, like his skin could burst open at any moment and leave him. 

And Johnny didn't let him rest for an instant; the inexorable slide in was replaced by a slow pull out and then there was a rhythm, and Mark thought his body was reshaping for Johnny's cock, melting around it, made anew by it, because nothing had ever felt this good before and nothing would ever feel so good again. When he pulled his face away from where it rested on his arms he realised they were wet and that tears were leaking out of his eyes, that every time Johnny thrust in he gasped, that every time Johnny pulled back he felt it in the rim of his hole. And then Johnny sped up and Mark lost all control of himself entirely; his arms collapsed and as Johnny's hips pistoned back and forth, merciless, Mark could hear little moaning noises being punched out of him. He was crying in earnest now, sobbing, and Johnny either didn't notice or didn't care; Mark could hear him grunting. Pinpricks of pain bloomed around where Johnny held his hips and he welcomed that too, as part of the sensation that grounded him, kept him from floating into a space from which, for the first time, he feared he couldn't return. 

It felt like ages but must only have been a few minutes before Mark came; it was unexpectedly painful, a pain that bled into pleasure and back again, and as Johnny kept thrusting steadily his body kicked into a higher gear and the overstimulation actually made him sob aloud. It might have been that or it might just have been that Johnny was ready; either way, he thrust a few more times and then slumped over Mark so that both of them were lying prone on the bed, Johnny half on top of Mark. It would have been more uncomfortable if Mark had been more awake to register it; as it was, the orgasm had taken everything out of him, and just before he fell reluctantly into sleep he turned his head to see Johnny's eyes closed, his eyelashes casting a shadow over his cheeks as he succumbed to the same.

  
  
The next time he awoke it was with a gasp; his eyes flew open as Johnny's cock rocked into him and his own dick filled into hardness again. "Ah, fuck! What're you--?" It took him a moment to orient himself; in any other situation he might have thought this position, with Johnny spooning him, was romantic. Now he could only think, again, of how he was being fucked, with all the crudeness that word implied. There was nothing romantic or gentle about it; he'd never felt more like an animal. And yet he was hard, and he still wanted it, even though Johnny was using him like a toy--or maybe because of it. This time his hands were free, and he fisted his dick, moaning, until Johnny slapped his hand away and started doing it himself. He registered, only then, that Johnny was speaking--had been the entire time. 

"--like it like this?" His voice was low and rough at Mark's ear; the breath made the hair on his neck stand up. "I seriously never knew you were such a slut. Is this what you thought about every time we showered together, Mark? Like getting fucked by your hyung?" The way he said Mark's name was so familiar that Mark shuddered. "I wish I could just--" The words caught in Johnny's throat and he groaned instead, biting down on Mark's shoulder, just shy of breaking skin. Maybe Mark was sicker than he thought; it made him wet, and Johnny could feel the precome slicking his hand. "Fuck," he said, almost panting now, his hips working faster in tandem with his hand on Mark's cock. "Fuck, you're like a fucking--doll, except _you_ fucking get off on it." 

When he said that he twisted his hand around Mark's cock, and Mark had to stuff a fist in his mouth to keep from screaming; at the same time Johnny thrust against his hips four or five more times and then pulled out and came all over his back and hip. 

"Fuck," he said, sounding tired and shaken for the first time. When Mark twisted around to look he saw that Johnny's cock was finally softening. There was also, he realised now, something leaking out of him, and he couldn't find the words to ask if Johnny had used a condom. 

"I think it's over," he said instead. 

Johnny didn't say anything. He fisted a hand through his hair. Mark looked at him and felt for the first time that he looked older than his years; the lines showed on his face. 

The afternoon sun was filtering into the room; they hadn't been knocked out for too long. Probably everyone else on the fifth floor would be back soon. "Dude," Mark said. "We gotta get cleaned up." He put a hand on Johnny's arm. Johnny flinched back. 

"This isn't--don't--" He struggled for a moment. "Don't make any assumptions, Mark." 

"What do you mean?" 

"Whatever you thought happened--" Johnny's jaw worked. "As far as I'm concerned," he said at last, "this never happened." 

"So... whaddaya mean?" 

"I mean get out." 

Mark stared at him. Finally he said, "No way." 

"Yes way," Johnny said. "Get your shit on and get _out_." He was shaking, Mark realised, barely perceptible tremours running through his arms down to his hands. "What did you think was going to happen, Mark? We'd fuck and I'd kiss you goodbye?" 

Mark looked at him again. He couldn't quite gauge what was happening. His ass hurt, and he thought maybe Johnny had come inside him. "I need--pants," he said dumbly.

Johnny tossed something at him. "Put them on and go."

He pulled his jeans off and pulled the sweatpants on; they hung off him. "I don't get it," he said finally.

"What did you think was going to happen?" Johnny said. He didn't sound angry--far from it. Just confused, upset, hurt. His brow was furrowed.

"I don't know."

"Why did you even--" Johnny stopped. He breathed in and then out, slow and controlled. "You thought what? You were helping out a bro?" 

Sitting here with dried tears and come on his face, that sounded incredibly stupid. "No. I mean. I don't know. I wasn't thinking." 

"Okay," Johnny said. "Well, I don't know either. And I couldn't think. So now I need to do it away from you." 

Mark stared at him. He wiped at his face for a second. Then he said: "Fine," and walked out.

**Author's Note:**

> you know, obviously all sex pollen is just an excuse for porn, but i really feel like i stretched the limits of believability here. anyway hope u liked... haha


End file.
